


The Taste of Tears

by IIRaven



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Begging, Dacryphilia, Daddy Kink, Degradation, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, F/F, Female Hange Zoë, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Forensic Scientist Hange Zoë, Light Dom/sub, Office Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Sex on Furniture, Vaginal Fingering, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 10:13:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29682387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IIRaven/pseuds/IIRaven
Summary: After a crushing defeat that leads you to your girlfriend’s office, Hange makes sure you know she’s the only one who’s allowed to make you cry.
Relationships: Hange Zoë & Reader, Hange Zoë/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 139





	The Taste of Tears

It takes every nerve in your body not to hit someone.

Yet anyone you lay eyes on seems to beckon you to do so, even Petra, who has been supporting you through the entire morning. So, to avoid any collateral damage, you walk into the precinct too fast for your partner, making her bump into multiple officers and call your name loudly enough for people to turn as she tries and fails to match your long strides. But all to slow. You’re able shut yourself in the lift before she catches up. Finally. Alone.

Instead of pressing the button for the sixth floor, you punch in the button indicating “2″ hard enough for it to hurt and let yourself breathe for just a moment.

Technically, what you should be doing is reporting back to Erwin on how miserably you lost the case, how the murderer walked free a smile on his stupid, stupid face, and how the victim’s family cried, and you could do nothing about any of it. But you don’t want to see your captain. You don’t want to see anyone who’ll remind you of your pitiful loss. Once upon a time, you stood in front of your family, your friends, your entire team and told them you wanted to be a detective to help people. You were convinced you could change the broken system. And yet here you are- just as bad as the rest of them. It’s disgusting.

“Hey, Y/N?” You didn’t notice the lift doors open, or Nifa walk in, lab coat still on and lunch in her hand. “Are you alright?”

“Afternoon,” you mumble hastily before walking out and into the forensic department. It smells of bleach, the too-bright lights still on despite the eerie silence with the absence of a majority of the lab coats and masks who are now on their lunch break. You spot Moblit from the corner of your eye, conducting what you assume is a post-mortem, but you don’t stop to greet him the way you usually would. Your vision is fixed on the door at the end of the hallway.

You don’t knock when you reached Hange’s office. You just swing the door open and watch as your girlfriend looks up from her microscope, a surprised look on her face which quickly turns into concern. The trips you make down to the forensic departments are few and far between, not because you don’t adore seeing Hange, but because she spends most of her time at your desk, taking “breaks” which her schedule as head scientist definitely does not allow. But when you are down here, it’s either for a very good or very bad reason. It’s very clear which is which.

“I-,” you take a deep breath, trying and failing to swallow the thick lump in your throat. You lean back against the hard wood of the door, body suddenly feeling so heavy. “I’m so fucking pissed.” And before you know it, tears begin to fall. Completely and utterly useless- first you’re the reason someone got away with murder and now you’re standing in front of your girlfriend’s door, crying? Face in your hands, you try to hold back the ugly sobs, but it’s impossible to lie to yourself in front of Hange. She always leaves you in a state which strips you down to your bare bones, vulnerable but protected by her love for you. Maybe that’s why you came down here? You want to feel protected again, not weak and miserable like you did before the leering judge that morning.

“Y/N.” The steadiness of Hange’s voice brings you back momentarily, and you’re able to look through your hands and blurred eyes to see her leaning back in her seat. She pushes it back and invites you to join her. “Come here, beautiful.”

Like a puppet on strigs, you manoeuvre your way through the stacks of papers and books thrown across in floor in piles Hange swears are organised and then into her arms. She’s warm, her heartbeat steady, and you feel so small- so safe- as she wraps herself around you and allows your cries to distil into sniffles.

“I’m a shit detective,” you say, voice strained, looking down at your damp sleeves.

Hange’s hand moves to your face and with a firm grip, lifts your chin so that her eyes stare into you. “Don’t you dare insult yourself like that,” she says. “You’re an amazing detective, an absolute genius. You know you are- this whole precinct knows you are.”

She kisses your forehead, and her lips travel down to your cheeks to kiss them too.

“I feel like I’m a bad detective, Hange. I let so many people down.”

She pauses her kisses to lift her brow. “Did anyone tell you they were disappointed?”

It’s your turn to pause. “No…”

“It’s all in your pretty little head, then,” she says. “You can’t let this horrible system crush you. Your stronger than that- I would know.”

You give her a weak smile and she resumes peppering you with kisses before dragging her tongue on your cheek, tasting your tears. An involuntary shiver travels down your spine.

“Uh- your tears taste different when you’re sad.”

Heat rises to your face. “Hange!” you give her a soft nudge but still can’t help the returning smile. She grins back, but it soon disappears. The heat then spreads over your entire body as you watch, slowly, your girlfriend’s expression change from an innocent curiosity to what you know to be an idea. Her pupils dilate ever so slightly, and she leans back in her seat. You aren’t sure if you’re shivering because of the sudden lack of warmth or the way Hange looks at you- like an experiment gone exactly the way she had planned.

“Take off your clothes.”

“W-What?” You snap your head towards the large window that separates her office from the entire forensic department, but the blinds are sealed shut. Still, you know walls are not thick. “Now?”

“I did say you were a genius. Don’t make me take back my words.” She places her chin on her palm. “Take off your clothes.”

Her tone, the unwavering nature of it, sends immediate pain down between your legs. You get off her lap and began to undress, removing the tailored suit you’re obliged to wear for court feels like you’re shedding layers of skin too tight for your actual body.

“Everything,” Hange says when you stand before her in your underwear. She tries to keep her expression bored, but you can see the flex of her jaw and the squeeze of her fist, and her own thighs mirroring yours and they search for discrete friction.

With your underwear and bra joining the pile of discarded clothes, Hange stands up and with one swift motion lifts you onto her desk. She kneels down and hoists your leg up with one hand, the cool air on the room hitting the warmth of your cunt and making you whimper involuntarily.

“Ah- look how wet you already are,” Hange coos and drags a long finger from her unoccupied hand over your cunt, spreading the wetness whilst purposefully avoiding where you want her the most. “Perfect little body responding just the way I like it to.”

“Hange, please,” you whisper. Still terrified of the idea of someone walking in on you, you can’t deny that it also makes you that much more excited. Everyone knows you and Hange are dating (she never really shuts up about it) but for someone to walk in and see her marking you, making you, the strong-headed Y/N, so readily submit- you bite your lip just thinking about it.

Hange suddenly slaps your clit, earning a squeal and juices dripping onto the table below. She stands up and removes her lab coat, tossing it aside before unbuttoning the top of her shirt and all you can do is stare dumbly.

“That’s not my name, love,” Hange says.

You look towards the window again, half-expecting the blinds to have suddenly been removed, and then towards the door, but Hange makes no move to lock it.

“Daddy, please,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

“Louder.”

“Daddy, please,” again your voice wavers.

She steps close, hands landing on the desk, trapping either side of you. Her brows furrow: eyes boring into you so that even if you wanted to look away you couldn’t. Hange doesn’t need to repeat herself.

“Daddy, please!” you exclaim.

“Please what?”

“Please touch me, daddy.”

Hange’s eyebrows relax, and she smiles. “Good girl.”

Her hand then travels down to your thigh, dragging her fingers across your leaking juices, spreading them all around your tight hole before inserting her middle finger into your cunt. You moan at the contact, hips bucking but Hange lingers over you, pushing down with her other hand so that to move would mean she squeezes your hips. The lack of friction with your clit makes your head spin almost immediately, but you aren’t able to say anything as she begins pumping her finger inside of you, slowly adding her ring finger and then curling them both up to stroke your walls, finding that sweet spot that leaves you biting down on your lip hard. 

It takes everything to keep your voice quiet but moans still slip out. She can’t help but capture your voice in a kiss. Your tongues entangle, messy as you feel too distracted by the feeling of Hange inside of you- and the lack of feeling where you want it the most- and the intensity of it all makes your eyes sting.

When you pause for air you look up at her, eyes wide. “Please touch my clit, daddy. I need you to touch it.”

The smile on Hange’s face is euphoric. “Look how well you’re asking,” she muses, unable to pull her gaze away from your glassy eyes. “So well behaved.”

But she doesn’t oblige, not until you ask again. “Please, I’m begging you, I need you to make me cum. Rub my clit!” You can almost swear you see a shadow passing in front of the window, but you’re unable to think straight. What if it was Moblit? Nifa? What would they do if they heard your desperate cries? Would they touch themselves? Cringe at the thought? Maybe they would come in, just to watch...

Your train of thought is cut off when Hange finally obliges you with her thumb finding your bundle of nerves. You throw your head back with a groan and buck your hips again, the pressure on your hips strong enough to leave bruises. “Fuck,” you moan. At the back of your mind, excitement rises at the anticipation of the marks of Hange’s fingers on your body again. She is rough with her ministrations, always making sure to leave traces of her on your most intimate parts and you cherish every single one of them.

Hange continues to pump her fingers inside of you as her thumb works on your clit, your cunt sucking her with such pornographic noises. She leans into to kiss up your neck and then begins sucking just below your jaw, right where any bruises would show. “Look at you- so eager for my touch. Is this all it takes to get you so riled?” As if she isn’t deep inside of you. Her laugh is almost mocking, and it goes down to your cunt immediately. Of course, your girlfriend notices. She pauses her ministration, and you whine at the lack of friction. “Did you just get tighter?”

“Hange! Don’t stop!”

“Answer my question,” her voice deepens, and her expression is serious, smile gone. “Did you get tighter when I laughed at you?”

“I can’t help it,” you look away, pouting. “You’re the one who makes me this way.”

Hange puts her fingers back inside of you, her thrusts stronger, more primal. “That’s right,”she says “I make you like this. Only I do.” she almost growls the last word before biting down on your shoulder, making you whimper. “I’m the only one who makes you cum. I’m the only one who makes you feel good. I’m the only one allowed to make you cry.” Every sentence she punctuates with a thrust has you seeing stars.

“Yes, yes!” You nod your head eagerly. “Only you, daddy.” Your hands move from the desk to wrap around her shoulders, Hange supporting your body as her movements seem to get rougher with every moan that slips out of your mouth. “Fuck, Hange- Hange I’m gonna-” your legs are already shaking, and your hips seem to be moving on their own accord, but instead of words, what comes out of your mouth is incoherent babbles. Your stomach coils, your release so close. “Hange, please, faster- I-”

And then she stops.

“No!” you practically scream. The tears that had been lingering at the back of your eyes now spill forth and Hange grins. Leaning forward to licks them up, she ignores your sobs, pleas and the nails that dig into her shoulders. “I’ll be good, I promise. Please, Daddy. Make me cum!” You repeat yourself too many times to count, but it only encourages her take more time to taste you, savouring the pain you’re in- the orgasm you’ve been denied. Hange then kisses you, and it’s a salty kiss, one that cuts your breath off.

“See?” she says. “Your tears are so much sweeter when I make them happen.”

Two fingers suddenly return to your clit and you moan loudly- people outside of the office be damned- before lifting your legs closer to your chest.

“Yes, yes Daddy, please. Please it feels so good, daddy.” You’re not sure what you’re saying anymore but Hange only rubs a few circles before you find your release and cum all over her hands. Your legs shake violently and Hange moves a hand behind your back as you arch, supporting you as she continues to rub your clit through your high. It’s only when you’re squealing, telling her “too much” that your girlfriend finally removes her hand to lick the cum off her fingers. She closes her eyes, taking her time to suck each finger dry. All you can do is hold onto her, the rest of your body completely limp.

“Thank you,” you whisper between pants. “Thank you, daddy.”

“Of course, my beautiful girl.” The scientist picks you up and you place kisses on the base of her throat, her shivers not going unnoticed. She carries you bridal style to the sofa hidden beneath pages. It’s large enough for the both of you, but you still stay huddled in her arms, tears drying up.

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note: phew. This is officially my first full piece of writing on here and I’m terrified. Criticisms or suggestions are appreciated!


End file.
